Through the windows
comes the summer breeze
that cools our skin
to below zero degrees
and rubs my wounds raw
like a sandstorm raging
inside a cool oasis

The symphony of
Synchronicity
that is our pounding heartbeat
lilts as a murmuring voice
that gently sheds its layers
to lay, replete
in a habitual stasis

Given there is no air
for lungs to embrace
and no breath, to speak
nor shining beacon
in an empty place

Fingers connected, intertwined
captures a blistering wind
that laps upon
drops of tears
bleeding from skin
abused
and is trusting
that the mask
was the one and same
as the last that was used

The heart that has fallen
to land on the floor
is forever just a landmark
to remind me
I have been here before